I should have left a note the day I walked out of your apartment. I should have told you everything—the way she pushed Timothy too far, how his temper flared, and how he threatened me with your life. Until then, I didn't know who he really was, where all the wealth streamed his way or how he bent the power to his will, or the dark tendrils of influence he could twist around anyone's life. But when he turned that power toward you, I had to believe we were a mistake. You were never meant to stumble through that café door on that dreary morning. I should have never let myself fall head over heels for you. Someone like me—someone stained in shades of blue—didn't belong in the calm simplicity of your black-and-white world. I belonged nowhere at all.

"You gotta be kidding me, Ahen, you gotta be kidding me!" Your voice howled through the pounding bass, cutting through the haze of laughter and flashing lights.

My head lolled to the side, too heavy with drink to focus properly, but I could still see the anger etched in every line of your face. Bloodshot eyes, damp cheeks-you were a mess of rage, confusion, and regret, all those emotions swirling together until they bulged and blurred into something I couldn't quite decipher. The crowded pub, dimly lit and reeking of alcohol and sweat, suddenly felt too small, too suffocating as your words echoed off the walls.

"Relax, it's just a bit of fun," I slurred, the words barely intelligible as they rolled off my tongue. But there was nothing fun about the way you looked at me, nothing playful in the way your jaw clenched, muscles tensing as if you were trying to hold yourself back from doing something you'd regret.

The two women draped over me giggled, their laughter hollow and shrill, as if they didn't notice-or didn't care-about the storm brewing in your eyes. I tried to raise my drink in a mock toast, but my hand trembled, spilling some of the amber liquid onto the sticky floor.

"Fun?" you spat, voice cracking under the strain. "This is what you call fun? Wasting yourself in this pit, throwing away everything you've worked for, everything we've-" You cut yourself off, voice breaking, and for a moment, I saw something raw in your eyes, something that made my chest tighten.

There wasn't something like 'we' anymore. There was you and there was me, two completely different people. All the conversations before this had established that much of a boundary just fine. And that fact clenched my heart a little too painful to bear sober, so I reached for the whiskey between us.

I shrugged, trying to laugh it off, but it came out hollow, forced. "What's the big deal? Everyone's got their vices, right?"

"Everyone?" You took a step closer, looming over me. The women beside me shifted uncomfortably, sensing the tension but not moving, as if waiting to see where this would go. "This isn't a vice, Ahen. This is you throwing your life away."

I chuckled darkly. "You sound like my mom, Garrete."

"Why are you doing this?" Your voice was softer now, almost pleading. "Why are you running from everything instead of facing it? Why are you running from me?"

I looked away, unable to meet your gaze, focusing instead on the half-empty bottle in my hand. I could feel your eyes burning into me, demanding something I wasn't ready-or willing-to give. It was too late now. I had already sunk too deep into this abyss, and I wasn't sure I wanted to climb out.

Instead, I just took another swig from the bottle, letting the burn of the alcohol numb whatever was left of my conscience. The room seemed to sway around me, the disco lights blurring into a mess of colour and motion, and I could hear the distant sound of laughter, music, but it all felt so far away, so irrelevant.

You snapped then, reaching out and snatching the bottle from my hand. Before I could react, you hurled it to the ground, the glass shattering with a deafening crash that brought the entire club to a standstill. The music cut off abruptly, and for a moment, there was nothing but silence.

"Is this what you want, Ahen?" you shouted, your voice ringing out in the sudden quiet. "To destroy yourself, to push everyone away until there's nothing left? Because that's where you're headed, and I won't watch you do this to yourself!"

Your words hit me like a physical blow, each one tearing at the fragile walls I had built around myself. The words sliced through the haze, sharper than any blade. I shoved the two women aside, rising unsteadily from the couch, the shattered glass crunching beneath my Jordans as I took a few steps toward you. And after so long I was standing in front of you-so close that I felt your breath, saw the tears pooling in your eyes, the rage trembling just beneath the surface. But too far to pull you into my arms, letting myself break down against you.

"Yeah," Instead, I met your gaze with a coldness I didn't feel. "I'll be exactly like this. And you won't get to save me. So it's about time you stop trying so hard."

I watched as my words hit you, saw the anguish flash across your face. You recoiled, the pain visible in the way your eyes welled up, your tears barely contained. My own resolve was a thin, fragile veneer, barely holding back the plunge into an abyss I'd dug myself.

"Suit yourself then," you choked out, your voice breaking, the words heavy with sorrow. "Disappear, if that's how solace comes to you."

You stood there for what felt like an eternity, chest heaving, eyes burning with a mixture of anger and heartbreak. Then, with one last, devastating look, you turned and stormed out of the club, leaving me behind, surrounded by the remnants of my self-destruction- shattered glass, suffocating silence, and the crushing weight of my own mistakes.

Just like that you walked away from my life, from everything that had been slowly building between us. Cause I had chose myself over us. How selfish of me. How terribly, unforgivably selfish.

I shouldn't have fought you when you tried to protect what was ours. But I did. I was a coward—too desperate to grasp at some empty, meaningless life that was never meant for me. Too painfully stupid to think I'd be fine in a world without you. And now all I was left with was regret—regret that I ruined everything.

Garrete... Garrete Swan Lombardy. In your black and white world, I was blue.

"Ahen Lefevre! Are you even listening to me?" The professor's furious voice snapped me out of the quiet trance I had fallen into. It had been six long months since you stopped looking at me, talking to me. Completely.

You stood at the piano, fingers poised over the keys, your expression distant, focused entirely on the music in front of you. I knew the piece well; we had rehearsed it together countless times before. But now, it felt different. The notes that once carried the warmth of our shared moments now sounded cold, distant, as if a wall had been erected between us, and I was on the outside, looking in.

The studio was alive with movement, dancers stretching and practising their routines, yet I felt strangely detached from it all. My mind was a swirl of memories, each one more painful than the last. I had lost myself in them, in the silent conversations we used to have with our eyes, the way we moved together in perfect synchrony. Now, all that remained was a hollow echo of what once was.

I caught your gaze for a fleeting second, and something inside me twisted painfully. You looked away, your expression unreadable, as if the months of distance had turned you into a stranger. The professor barked another command, and I forced myself to focus, to push aside the gnawing ache in my chest. But it was impossible. Every movement felt heavy, burdened by the weight of what we had lost.

Six months. Six long months since my mother had stormed into my life, demanding that I give you up, that I sever the ties that had bound us together so intimately. And like the obedient son she had raised me to be, I had tried. But it was futile. How could I distance myself from the one person who made me feel alive? I did. I did it for us.

You fought over it. My silence. You fought for weeks, months. But not anymore. Now your silence hurt me to a point I was convinced I was going to lose my mind. I had never told you why I started avoiding you, why I suddenly became cold, indifferent. Maybe you thought I had simply lost interest, that my feelings had changed.

No, they hadn't Garrete. They had only grown stronger, more painful. Every time I saw you, I wanted to explain, to tell you the truth, but the words lodged in my throat, suffocating me. I wouldn't see you die. As much as I hate to admit it my mother's manicured hands had blood on them. This way we would live. This way you would live.

The winter showcase was only weeks away, and I knew this was our last chance to rehearse together, our last chance to be in the same space without the constraints of the outside world pressing in. But even here there was an invisible barrier between us, one that neither of us seemed willing-or able-to cross.

I tried to convince myself it was okay. I wanted to dance. And I was dancing. Dancing with you. Of sorts. Not the way I wanted. But there were things I couldn't afford. Like your love. They used to say I was rich. My father could buy me anything. But I had never felt this poor.

I forced myself to dance. But my movements were mechanical, devoid of the passion that had once driven me. All I could think about was you. In black and white, I was blue.

"Ahen!" The professor's voice broke through the fog of my thoughts once more.

"Professor?"

"If you're not going to focus, then leave the studio."

I swallowed hard. "Sorry, Professor,"I muttered, forcing myself to move, to dance.

"On cue...five, six, seven, eight..." And it started. Again.

The music began, and I surrendered to its flow, each note a thread weaving through the fabric of my soul. I know this piece. You wrote it for me. I dreamed of dancing with you, not alone. I danced with the raw intensity of unspoken regret and aching love. My movements, a series of elegant contortions, expressive and vulnerable.

Memories of us together flashed vividly in my mind. Our quiet moments, the way you smiled softly when you looked at me, and the sweetness of our lips. They threatened to spill, like tears, but the I had to hold my heart. The moment I let it loose it'll gulp me down altogether.

I danced, cause that's the only thing I could do. But let our memories dictate my movements-the graceful arches of my arms, the desperate twists of my body-I longed to hold you once more, kiss you once more.

You played with a delicate intensity, your gaze never meeting mine directly. Instead, your eyes stayed on the piano, as if looking at me might shatter the fragile connection between us. The tempo of your playing shifted subtly to match my movements, each note an echo of my anguish. Like this music was the frail thread that bound us together, even as the pain of our separation clawed at our hearts.

The session dragged on. The weight of the unspoken words between us only grew. When the rehearsal finally ended, I lingered by the door, watching as the others packed up and left. You stayed behind, as you always did, your fingers drifting over the piano keys in a soft, melancholic melody. It was a sound that tugged at my heartstrings, pulling me closer to you despite the distance I had tried to maintain.

I couldn't leave. Not without saying something. Anything.

"Garrete," I called softly, stepping back into the studio.

You didn't look up, but I saw the slight tension in your shoulders, the way your hands stilled on the keys. The room was filled with the muted glow of twilight filtering through the tall windows, casting long shadows that danced on the walls.

"Garrete, I..." I hesitated word catching in my throat.

Finally, you looked at me, your gaze piercing through the layers of pain and guilt I had wrapped myself in. For a moment, neither of us spoke, the silence stretching out between us like a fragile thread, waiting to snap.

"Can I help you?" you asked, your voice barely more than a whisper.

The silence that followed was suffocating. I took a shaky breath, trying to steady my voice.

"I wanted to talk about the performance. It's been a while since I've seen you play like that-so raw, so... powerful."

Your eyes flickered, a hint of vulnerability surfacing, but you quickly masked it with a cold façade.

"It'll be mylast performance before I leave. So yes I'm doing my best." you replied tersely, turning your attention back to the music sheets as if we were strangers.

"You're leaving..." Tears slid down my cheeks, blurring the world as they fell.

My mother's voice echoed in my mind, urging me to wipe them away, to hide them from the world. Men were supposed to be rough, tough, devoid of tears, unaffected by emotions.

You looked at me. Maybe because you heard the sniffle I tried so hard to muffle with my sweater paws. I could see the confusion, the hurt, the anger in your eyes, but also something else-something that gave me a sliver of hope.

"You wanted me gone anyways. Why act hurt now?"

It was a stab to my heart-one that didn't bleed visibly, so I was expected to wince in silence and avoid being dramatic. Only if you knew why I wanted you gone.

"Garrete..." My voice was small, trembling as I tried to reach out again.

"If that's all, it would be a great help if you left," you spat, your words sharp and unfeeling. "I need to concentrate."

Garrete Swan, I was your blue.

The showcase arrived on a cold winter evening, the air crisp and sharp, the city lights casting long shadows on the snow-covered streets. Inside the theatre, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation. The audience's murmurs formed a low hum, mingling with the chill of the night.

I stepped onto the stage, the blinding lights was just nothing more than an assault on my eyes. They hadn't gotten a proper rest in a bit, for all those nights I was busy crying. To a point I knew I had no tears left.

I took a deep breath, centering myself in the sea of brightness. In the corner of my vision, I saw you seated at your piano, your head bowed, fingers poised over the keys. This was to be our final dance, the end of many things: me, us, and our little world. And I would cherish every bit of it before it's all gone.

The stage was set for our final dance, a moment that would mark the end of many things-me, us, and the little world we had created together. The lights dimmed, casting a soft, melancholic glow over the polished wooden floor. The first note pierced the silence, and I felt its resonance deep in my bones.

I moved, my body flowing with the music as if it were an extension of your soul. Every step, every twirl, was infused with the weight of our unspoken goodbyes.

My costume, a shear blend of white and deep blue, fluttered around me like a whisper of the ocean waves, catching the light and reflecting it back in shades of sorrow. The fabric clung to my skin, accentuating the lines of my body as I spun, leaping into the air, defying gravity for a brief, breathless moment.

The spotlight followed my every move, a single beam of light illuminating the darkened stage, casting long, dramatic shadows that flickered like ghosts of our past. The air was thick with tension, each note you played winding tighter around my heart.

My movements became more frantic, desperate to hold on to every second, every beat of the music that bound us together.

The dance was grand, every movement precise yet filled with a raw, aching emotion. My feet skimmed the floor as I glided across the stage, my arms reaching out as if to grasp something just out of reach-something that was slipping away faster than I could hold onto it. I spun again, faster this time, my vision blurring as I became lost in the momentum.

And then, the final notes began to play, slower, sadder, a farewell in every chord. My body trembled with the strain of holding everything in, of keeping myself together when all I wanted to do was break apart.

With one final twirl, my knees buckled, and I collapsed onto the stage, the polished wood cold against my skin as the last note faded into silence. The curtain began to descend, shrouding me in darkness just as the first tear slipped down my cheek.

The audience erupted into wild applause, their cheers and claps mingling with the lingering echoes of our final performance. But all I could hear was your footsteps, urgent and heavy, as you dashed across the stage toward me. Fear was etched into your features as you called my name.

"Ahen..."

I cringed, my body shaking from both your desperate attempts to bring me back and the fragile sobs that wracked my frame. My vision blurred as you knelt beside me, your hands trembling as they gently cupped my chin, forcing my eyes to meet yours.

"Ahen, why is this?" you asked softly, your voice thick with confusion and hurt. You pulled me into a tight embrace, your warmth seeping into my cold, trembling body. "Breathe, Ahen breath..."

I sucked in a deep breath. It did little to nothing to calm my nerve. I drag in another, after another.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." The apologies tumbled from my lips, each word breaking under the weight of my guilt.

"Ahen, please..." Your hands rested gently on my shoulders, your voice steady as you tried to calm the storm inside me. "It's alright. Just keep breathing."

More footsteps echoed around us, whispers drifting through the haze of my confusion. Someone lifted me off the floor, and you balanced me on my feet, your grip firm and reassuring.

"I'm sorry," I managed to mumble, my voice barely above a whisper.

"Let's get you back to the dressing room," you said softly, guiding me. "Can someone bring some water?" you called over your shoulder, urgency lacing your voice.

Once we reached the room, you eased me down to the floor, your touch gentle. You splashed cool water on my face, wetting my lips with your fingertips. Blurred figures moved in and out of my vision, people whispering questions I couldn't fully grasp. You assured them I was okay and asked for space as I kept mumbling the same thing over and over.

"I'm sorry, Garret..."

"I know you are," you replied, your voice calm yet firm.

"I didn't mean to push you away."

"But you did, Ahen," you said, your tone softening.

"Stop being so cross!" I pleaded, the frustration in my voice tinged with desperation.

"I-" You hesitated, your voice catching. "It's just... it's so frustrating that you think I need to be protected."

"You do need to be," I insisted, my voice trembling. "My mom is wild. She's not pretending. She's dangerous!" I could feel the words clawing at my throat, desperate to make you understand. "And Timothy isn't any different."

"Do they want me dead?" you asked, but instead of fear, there was only curiosity in your voice.

You were so calm, the same serenity you'd carried with you since the day you first walked into the café where I worked. Back then, that calm had soothed me. But now, it wrecked my nerves.

"Timothy won't let Revera die because of me," I sniffled, tears freely sliding down my cheeks. "And she would die for the look of this shell she cherishes."

You studied my face, the anger in your expression softening into something more vulnerable. A weak smile curved your lips, a tear slipping down your cheek. "You should have known better, Ahen. I didn't need your protection. I needed you."

"You're so full of yourself," I snapped, trying to pull away in anger, but you held me in place.

"When you said I was black and white, was it only because of the aesthetic of my apartment?"

"That too. You played black and white keys on the piano. Your life was so cut-and-dry-strict parents, no room for grey areas. And you liked black over blue."

"Oh, that's why," you said thoughtfully. "I thought you saw my revolver case."

"Eh?" I blinked, sure I must have misheard.

"Doesn't matter," you said, brushing it off with a small smile. "Just trust me and let me handle your mom. Okay?"

I was confused, trying to piece together what you were saying, trying to understand what you were hiding beneath the surface.

"How?"

"It's a secret. For now, at least." You smiled at me weakly. "I've spent six months worrying about losing you, and I realised I wouldn't go down without a fight."

"I don't understand what you're saying. Are you drunk?"

"Rich, coming from a drunkard." You chuckled softly, finding a hot towel from somewhere and gently trailing the tear streaks on my cheeks. The warmth radiated through me, relaxing the tension in my muscles.

"Just promise me you'll hold on to me no matter what," you continued, your voice tender. "Do you not need me? Will you be alright if I leave the country and never come back as planned?"

The thought shattered me. It was unimaginable. I wouldn't survive. I wasn't brave enough to let you go, no matter how much I pretended otherwise. New waves of tears welled up, blurring your face.

"Shhh... shh... it's okay." You shifted the hot towel over my face, gently wiping away the stray tears.

"I don't want to lose you," I whispered, my voice breaking.

"I know, I know. I don't want to lose you either." Your voice was steady, comforting. "Just trust me and hold on. Nothing can separate us as long as you do that. Can you?"

I nodded, remembering the silent promise I made when I first kissed you under the starlight. "What now?" I asked, my voice trembling with vulnerability.

You gently held my face in your hands, your fingers tracing soothing circles on my wet cheeks.

"You're an idiot, Ahen Lefevre," you murmured, a mixture of affection and exasperation in your tone. "But you're my idiot."

Without another word, you kissed me. The kiss was a profound release, holding all the pain, longing, and love that had accumulated over the months. It was tender yet passionate, a reconciliation and a promise all at once.

"I love you, Ahen. And there's nothing I can't do for you. Just stay with me, yeah?"

I nodded, tears streaking down my face, unchecked. "I love you more."

Your lips moved against mine, and I melted into you, the tears still flowing but now mingling with the sweetness of the kiss. In that moment, all the barriers between us dissolved, leaving only the raw, unfiltered connection we had always shared.

We pulled away, breathless and teary-eyed, and I knew that despite everything, we would find our way back to each other. In your black-and-white world, I was the blue, and that was more than enough.

"If we die tomorrow, it's all your fault. My mom saw you running to me."

"I'll take my chances, Ahen. I got a revolver in my belt."

THE END!
Adios till book 2 ;)

WC: 3550

A/N:

About the ending...yeah I'd love to hear your thoughts. I have prepared a little gift for you in the chapter after the Author's Note. Feel free to sneak a peak. You might like what you see.

Although a slightly altered version of it appears in a chapter of this extended edition, I'll be including the short version of this here as well. It's a memory, a milestone—something I personally cherish.

Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. :)